Learning to Cope
by fantasybean
Summary: Sequel to 'To be so young and in love' & 'Marriage and University'. John and Sherlock deal with seperation as John joins the army and Sherlock begins his career as a detective. Will they be able to cope with the distance, will it break them or make them stronger?
**Learning to Cope**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or anything.**

 **Author's note: There is sensitive content in this fiction, including military experience and drug-use! Please don't read if it's something that upsets you in any way! Stay safe, guys!**

 **This chapter is up earlier than expected for my best friend, Jytte! This is a little gift from me to you, my friend! This world I wrote brought us together and I hope it cheers you up today! See you soon!**

 **Enjoy and review please!**

* * *

When the plane landed in Afghanistan they were marched off to their camps, John met the guys and girls he'd be working alongside for his first tour. He was in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and he was starting out as a second Lieutenant. He had had a lot of training but he had no illusion that training and real life would probably be very different so he was hoping to get along well with his team, that would probably make the transition a lot easier.

First he was introduced to his commanding officer, Major James Sholto, a kind looking man who looked a little watchful all the same. He was blonde and in his thirties, probably ten years older and wiser than John.

He also met Captain Emily Clark, she had brown hair and a constant smirk, not a nasty smirk though-she was just incredibly playful, John got the immediate impression from her that she'd be a lot of fun to have as a friend but probably wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty or her voice stern.

Liuetenant Morgan was probably the joker of the group, and he was also their main translator when it came to times where they would be conversing with their fellow troups who were mainly speaking Pashto, Afghanistan's most spoken language.

Private Jay Wimmer and private Thomas O'brien were new, like John, and gave an immediate friendly impression to John, he felt they would end up firm friends. Jay had red hair and a smile, he was someone John immediately bonded with, Thomas seemed quite sweet, and obviously wanted to get involved socially with John and Jay, which they were more than happy to do. With John he felt the more friends he had then the merrier it'd be! He internally chuckled at that, his husband wasn't quite of the same viewpoint. Sherlock more thought that the more people you had in your life the more hassle it was!

John met a lot of other people, but there were so many he lost track of names and faces, he was sure he'd learn them as they went on.

He was told at first he would be mainly stationed in the medic tents, ready to receive any sick or injured soldiers, but as he learnt and trained more he would be able to accompany the soldiers on their travels.

He felt like he was pretty quickly thrown into the fray though, once the introductions had been done and their bags had been put in their communal tents where they would be resting, the new medics were lead to the medic tent, introduced to some of their colleagues, one of them being Captain Emily Clark, which John was happy about as he already liked her, and then they were all taken to someone sick or injured to start working.

John was at first just listening to one of his colleagues' chest to see if he had the flu and then he was bombarded with orders as a truck load of injured soldiers arrived at the camp, there weren't that many medics in comparison to the injured and while John was used to training in groups of three to five, him and Captain Clark were the only people working on Private Jackson, who had been shot in the abdomen five times and the shoulder twice. There was little time to think, they just had to do, and three hours later Jackson was stabilised and John and Emily both breathed for what felt like the first time in a while. John looked down at his bloodied clothes and then to Emily who put her hand on his shoulder "I know, it's scary. But you did great. You'll be a good doctor and soldier." She gave him a supportive smile and went to help anyone else who needed it, quickly telling John to stay and keep an eye on Jackson.

* * *

Only a few days after John left, Sherlock had moved into the flat in Elephant and Castle. It was small, a small double bed in the bedroom with a wardrobe and a side table, a kitchen with barely enough room to make soup let alone a proper meal, and when he would be eating there wasn't a living room so he would either be sat on a stool in the kitchen or in his bedroom. There was also a bathroom which looked like it was from the 70s. But Sherlock didn't mind, it was cheap and the more money he saved now the better he and John would have it in the future when they were living together again.

Sherlock took on as many cases as he could, all paid but not a huge sum. There were a lot of affairs and thefts and not many brutal crimes. And Sherlock was fed up of it, they were all the same and all easy to solve.

'Why not join the police?' John had suggested a few times, and Sherlock could hear his husband's voice in his head as he read through his emails looking for something new.

Sherlock sighed, he didn't want to be in the police.

But maybe… maybe if he didn't join the police but got involved in a few cases as a consultant then that would help.

A week later Sherlock was loitering at a murder scene, a man with silver hair, who Sherlock quickly clued in on the fact that he was the Detective Inspector on the case and his name was Lestrade, was looking rather grumpy as he walked out of the tent that hid the body from the public.

Sherlock chose his moment and walked over to the man "Hello." He said.

"Sorry, mate, this place isn't where you want to be." Lestrade said tiredly, trying to get Sherlock away from the area.

"No, this is exactly where I want to be. And I'm exactly who you need. The name is Sherlock Watson-Holmes, I'm a consulting detective." He held out his hand for Lesrade to shake, and the DI did eventually shake it after a few moments.

"What's a consulting detective?" Lestrade asked.

"I am a detective, and I consult with people. I have an incredibly high IQ and a curious mind, I solve problems, I can solve cases and I can help you solve your case. I will not work for the police but I would like to work alongside you. I will do it for free too, I gain money from private clients who need my assistance in solving their cases. I can see from your expression that you are both confused and curious, so I won't hassle you any more, here is my card, it has my website on it, you can take a look at what I am and what I do and make a decision as to whether you will accept my assistance. My number is on it for when you choose to contact me." Sherlock held out his card.

"Mr…?" Lestrade prompted.

"Watson-Holmes." Sherlock answered.

"Right, Mr Watson-Holmes. I'm sorry but I can't be sharing any confidential police information with members of the public, whether I find your website or mind impressive or not." Lestrade said.

"I understand that. But you need my help, I can see you are struggling with this case, this isn't the first murder, am I right?"

"How can you know that?!"

"I heard there have been three unsolved murders in this area in the past two weeks, all men and all single, am I correct? Tabloids are oddly informative despite their love of gossip." Sherlock said.

"You're right… this one's a real head scratcher." Lestrade admitted.

"Let me help you. I'm willing to do it for free, discreetly, and if you're not impressed by me on the first day we work together then you don't have to work with me again. I'm just asking for a chance to help you on this case. I need you and you need me." Sherlock said.

"Why would you need me?"

"Because my mind is going crazy without having more difficult puzzles to solve. I will talk to you when you call. Goodbye, Inspector." Sherlock turned around and left. Lestrade watched him go and Sherlock smirked, he knew the man would call him. The police officer was desperate.

Only two days later Sherlock got a call from an unrecognized number, he answered it on the third ring "Sherlock Watson-Holmes."

"It's DI Lestrade. There's been another murder. Help me solve this and maybe we can come to some sort of an arrangement. I've got my seniors breathing down my neck, London asking me when will the killings stop and I am desperate. I'm impressed by your website, so show me what you've got. But not a word to anyone. I talked to some people in my team and they agree to let you in but no treading on anybody's toes and keep this quiet."

Sherlock smiled "Text me the address and I'll be there." He hung up and grabbed his coat and keys, he looked at the picture of himself and John on their wedding day which was hung up on the wall by the door "The wheels are turning, wish me luck." And he fled out the door.

* * *

Lestrade's face said it all, he was both shocked and extremely impressed by Sherlock's brain. His mouth was open in shock and his eyebrows were raised in amazement.

"So… it's like a speed-dating serial killer?" Lestrade asked.

"How can you know this?" Donavon asked incredulously.

"The lipstick mark on his neck, red. Confident, alluring. Usually worn on a date and judging by the time he went missing and was killed that is prime time for a date. It was clearly a woman who murdered him. Judging by his fashion, cologne and a receipt in his wallet for a pole dancing club he is heterosexual… and the fresh condom in his wallet and as I said, clothes and cologne, suggest he is going on a date. There is also a bruise on his abdomen in the shape of a high heel shoe and a red fake nail has broken off just there." Sherlock pointed to the floor "I come to the assumption from the facts and from the information you've given me on the previous victims that the killer goes on a date with this person, most likely they haven't met in person before. A deep search into their internet and messaging history may be enlightening. She takes them to these abandoned buildings, quiet streets, kills them and walks away. She's clever but there are ways we can find her. Undercover work may be a viable option, or-" Donovan interrupted.

"Yeah, we will take it from here. Your findings are good, helpful to an extent but you jump to too many conclusions!"

"I make informed conclusions from the evidence." Sherlock frowned.

"Yeah yeah, sure. I still don't think this is a good idea letting some person with a fancy website and a relatively clever brain into confidential police business." She said to Lestrade.

"Donavon give him a break, he's actually been really helpful." Lestrade said.

"He's a liability. We have to do things by the book or we could all get in trouble. I'm sorry, but that is how it is." She said and walked away.

"Don't listen to her, trust your instincts, Lestrade. I am good at what I do and I can help you bring the crime rate down by solving your cases faster." Sherlock said confidently.

"Go home, Sherlock. I'll call you later. I have to think about some things… thanks for all your help with this." Lestrade gestured to the body and Sherlock sighed and left.

Lestrade contacted Sherlock a week later informing him that he couldn't help and come along to physically view rime scenes anymore, but could maybe be there for Lestrade to text or call if he needed any advice or a smarter mind.

"Okay… that's fine. I'll do what I can from online until you see sense and let me back on crime scenes again." Sherlock said and hung up.

He threw the phone against the wall and sighed, he just wanted John. John would know how to fix this, how to show Lestrade that Sherlock was reliable and serious and a genius.

* * *

A week into his new life in Afghanistan and John was silently longing for Sherlock, he missed his husband, he missed talking to him every day and being able to discuss things with him.

When he was allowed a phone call John typed in Sherlock's number and waited for it to connect, Sherlock answered on the second ring "Sherlock Watson-Holmes."

"Hey, Sherlock. It's me." John said softly.

"John?" Sherlock replied.

"Yeah, how are you, love?"

"I'm… okay. I've moved into that flat in Elephant and Castle. I've been doing cases every day and I also talked with a detective inspector and got him to allow me to look at a crime scene, I helped him get closer to solving the case but they've pushed me away. I'm not reliable enough, they don't know me and it's against the system to allow the public to access confidential police information. So no more murder mysteries for me. My brain is rotting with all these petty thefts and affairs and family disputes!" Sherlock whined down the phone "I wish you were here to make it easier. Anyway, how are you coping? What is it like?"

"I'm… its horrible, Sherlock. Horrible but kind of exhilarating. I've helped to save twenty five people so far. And four people have died while I've tried to save them too." John said with his eyes shut.

"But at least the majority are being saved. You're doing amazingly well, John." John held the phone close to his ear, missing Sherlock's presence even more now he has a bit of it in his life.

"Thanks… I just… it's scary."

"I can imagine. Don't worry though, I'll always be here at the end of it." Sherlock said supportively.

"Thanks… I need you. Damn, my time is running out. I love you so much. And I'm proud of you, keep up with the paid cases to keep yourself financially stable and sooner or later an interesting case will come along, with or without the police." John said.

"Be brave, John. I love you." Sherlock said.

"I love you too." John smiled softly and hung up.

John went back to his tent and sat on his bunk, pulled out the picture of himself and Sherlock on their honeymoon from his wallet. He missed that man, his man. His smile and his brain and his presence. He was also missing the sex, the wanks in the shower were not satisfying enough and always had to be really early or late to avoid his privacy being broken by someone else; the showers were communal.

John sighed and slipped the picture back in his wallet and lay on his side.

Wimmer, Morgan, Clark, Sholto and O'Brien all called him over to where they were sat in a circle chatting after he had been moping for a good twenty minutes, they were probably the tightest group of friends John had here.

"So, we were just learning a little more about each other, John. Come on then, sharing is caring and all that, what's your story?" Clarke asked as John sat down.

"Ohh what's the wife like, I notice the ring." O'Brien pointed at John's hand.

"Well, firstly I don't have a wife. I have a husband. His name is Sherlock. We have known each other since birth and it's pretty great with us. I do miss him though." John explained.

"You're gay?" Private Richards interrupted rudely from where he and his two mates sat playing cards a few feet away on their bunk beds.

"Yeah, problem?" John asked with a frown.

"If you're gay, why are you in the army? Thought being a soldier meant you had to be tough. I hope you didn't join just because of the communal showers." Richards tutted.

"Hey, that's not called for, Richards." Clark said.

"It's alright, Em, I can fend for myself. Listen here, one, being gay doesn't mean you're not tough. In fact being openly gay, even now with how far we have come, is still challenging, especially with people like you. So in a way you have to be tough just by being who you are. Two, I'm not here for the communal showers, I'm here to work and to save lives. If you've got a problem with who I am then that's your problem, not mine." John said sternly.

"Alright, alright calm it!" Richards put his hands up in surrender "I was just asking."

"Well maybe don't next time." Sholto said with a frown, to which Richards went very quiet.

John smiled at his friends "Anyway, where were we?"

They all jumped into the conversation about their own love lives and families back home.

* * *

After the phone call Sherlock tried to make himself some dinner but he just felt a little useless. He wanted John, he wanted to be with John, to help him. He ended up skipping dinner, and breakfast the following day. He did meet his mother for lunch though so he did manage to eat that at least.

On his way home he was reading through his emails and he came across a person requiring his help tracking down their drug-dealing brother.

Sherlock decided to accept the case as it was a little higher up in interest than most of his cases, he met with a man who gave him as much detail about his brother as possible.

"We just need you to find him and maybe stop him from selling? We can't find him, and the reason he went missing was because we told him to get some help and he obviously refused… please help, Mr Watson-Holmes."

Sherlock took all of two hours to track the brother, Jamie McCall, down to a building frequented by squatters and drug users, he found the man sat against a wall counting money.

"I'm here to take you home. Your family asked me to help you." Was the first thing Sherlock said, probably not the best thing to start with.

"Not a chance, mate. Who are you?"

"I'm Sherlock, I'm a detective." Sherlock answered shortly and sat opposite the man.

"Well, Sherly, I'm not coming home and I don't need help. How about you though? You sound well depressed!"

"My feelings are irrelevant. Now, let's take you home." Sherlock got ready to get up but Jamie got out a little jar of liquid which made Sherlock pause, it looked medicinal but Sherlock knew it definitely wasn't something the NHS would prescribe.

"This can make you feel better, give you a high, increase your brain's speed. You're clearly clever, Sherly, imagine how good you could be with this." Jamie smiled.

"I'm not interested…" Sherlock gulped.

"Oh really? You look interested. Give it a go, if you don't like it then don't try it again. I'll give you this first one free if you leave me alone. I'll be here but don't tell my family." Jamie held out the drug.

"What… what is it?" Sherlock asked.

"Heroin. I have pretty good suppliers too, this little jar is worth quite a lot. Do you have a syringe or would you like me to get you one?" Jamie asked.

Sherlock didn't answer him, he hadn't even decided if he would take it yet, but he put it in his pocket, looked at Jamie one more time and said "If you don't want my help I can't make you take it. But your family are worried."

"Noted." Jamie commented.

"Goodbye."

"See you later, Sherly." Jamie called after him.

* * *

Hours later Sherlock sat on his bed in his pyjamas, which was one of John's old T-Shirts and some jogging bottoms.

He held the bottle of heroin and had a clean syringe he had stolen from a nearby pharmacy.

The picture of John he had on his bedside table sat watching him, so he put it face down, emptied the liquid into the syringe and found a vein. Just one try, maybe it'd feel better than this shit he felt right now. Better than missing the love of his life. Better than feeling redundant, of the important people not valuing his skills and the unimportant people using his skills for their petty crisis'. He just wanted it to get easier, to be able to have just a moment where he wasn't solely missing John and getting a headache from the lack of challenges his brain had.

He pressed the needle into his arm, hissed, but pushed the plunger down and let the drug flood his system.

As his brain and body began reacting to the drug he lay down and enjoyed the temporary bliss and the clear thought paths his brain got. And he laughed. This was what he needed.


End file.
